


legacy

by dancer4813



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: "NPC" perspective, Alternative Perspective, During Episode 104, Elysium, Family Dynamics, Gen, Vox Machina campaign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17552267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancer4813/pseuds/dancer4813
Summary: Legacy... it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see... Until the opportunity presents itself.Unbeknownst to Percy, the de Rolos observe his found family's trek through Elysium.





	legacy

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite oneshots I have ever written, partly because I'm a sucker for anything about the de Rolos, and partly because Matt provided a simply wonderful backdrop for each of the gods that was an absolutely joy to experiment with in written form. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. 
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr here

He’s standing with the guard, as he has been wont to do since coming to Elysium, to the Dawnfather’s kingdom. It feels appropriate for one who aspired to be a voice for Pelor, a potential champion, were his life not cut short.

Vesper stands beside him - she was always more politically minded than him in life, but few care for politics in the afterlife. So she stands sentinel, alongside him, to escort any who would approach the cathedral of the Father.

Whitney and Oliver are harvesting, finding rest together in shared purpose, and he is glad as a soul can be that their bodies are not necessary in Elysium, for their deaths were particularly gruesome in life. He does think, though, that if they had more of their physical bodies little of the Dawnfather’s harvest would be getting in the baskets, and much more of it would be all over their clothes and the surrounding trees.

Ludwig is a waiter, a watcher. He is one of the many who stand on the parapets of the cathedral, looking heavenward and toward the edge of the kingdom. They see the stars when the Father’s brilliance is subdued, and they know everything that happens in this place.

Their parents are housed within the cathedral, in the chambers set aside for His chosen few, especially those who have given their lives for His service, or for the fight against the darkness, as he had once given His freedom and connection to the Material Plane. They have no duties - they suffered enough in their last moments, and they have been granted rest eternal.

It is Ludwig who sees them first, then, from his perch.

_A party approaches, from the South,_ comes the murmur on the wind, for souls have no need for mouths, nor voice. _A large party, with the light of Sarenrae and the Raven’s champion in tow._

There is a ripple through the souls, not just those who have been ardently watching and following the renewal of Whitestone, and he feels Vesper’s presence at his arm, nervous tension filling the air.

_Do you think?_ comes a murmur, distant but discernible, from farther out in the kingdom. It’s followed by a second, a lighter mirror of the first.

_It certainly looks like it._

_They- oh hells-_

_Sweet Pelor, brother, you were never my favorite, but you_ grew up _didn’t you?_

If eyes existed in the afterlife, Julius would have rolled them.

_It’s them?_ comes a whisper from behind, soft and hopeful.

_The twins say it’s them, Mother,_ he tells her, letting himself believe, letting himself imagine.

_Oh goodness…_

They wait for a long stretch, until the mortals tread within sight of the castle. (And the mortals do not notice the following they have gathered - the spirits that trail them through the wood.)

The party talks with Dawnfather’s trees and are greeted by the Planatars. It’s the final test, which determines whether they may approach the castle, and after long minutes, they are allowed to walk past.

If Julius had breath, it would have caught at the splendor that they carry with them. The power they radiate that is dim in comparison to the Father himself, but brighter than any mortals who have walked through these orchards, through his forest.

Percival is near the back, understandably awed by the scope of the cathedral before them. He sticks out, with his rich blue coat, accented with Whitestone’s colors.

_It’s him, Mother, Father,_ he confirms.

It is his duty as the eldest to make known the truth.

_And she’s with him._

A ripple of affirmation comes from the fortress, as well as a choked silence, heavy with the weight of joyful tears that cannot be formed, let alone shed, answers him, and he understands.

Percival has no eyes for faceless, nameless souls, especially while approaching an audience with the Dawnfather, which is forgivable, even though Julius can feel Vesper’s silent chant at his side: _Look ‘round, Percival. Look around, please. See us…_

(He’s thinking the same.)

But Percy, who had been so young when the Briarwoods had come… He was older now, weathered. And it is interesting to look at his younger brother and see a face that is an age that Julius personally had never reached, that he would never reach.

And yet, his brother still looks _so young._

Staring up at the immense cathedral, Percy’s face would seem impassive to another, but any de Rolo studying him would see the characteristic tilt of his eyebrows, and the concern in his eyes. Percy had never been one for religion, and it showed in the worry he wouldn’t let himself show. Julius almost wants to step out, to lend him a hand, but that is not his purpose, and he holds himself back.

The woman at Percy’s side, half a head shorter than him, her dark hair contrasting his white, her scaled armor matching his locks, reaches out to grab his hand. For a moment his attention is arrested by her, his face softening, the tension in his shoulders falling away.

Vesper does her best to poke Julius, despite the ethereal nature they share, and he scoffs.

_I know._

That she is the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt, is obvious. Julius had only ever met two other Mistresses of the Hunt, but this woman beside his brother had the same sharp gaze, the same regality. And there was the same look in her eyes that Julius had often seen in his mother’s while alive. A spark, a joy, when looking at him, or even around the fortress, that speaks to a special connection.

_There is no way in the Nine Hells they are not betrothed,_ Vesper says at his side, igniting a flurry of discussion from the three youngest siblings that stands out sharply over the general murmur of the crowd. But Julius ignores them in favor of watching Vox Machina walk through the front doors, into the resplendent entryway.

Oliver and Whitney find himself and Vesper in the crowd as the spirits start to relax, no longer standing guard quite so stiffly. They are still babbling excitedly to each other, and it is clear that the other spirits also have plenty to say. The air around them feels like it’s charged with an energy they haven’t felt since the Grey Hunt.

Ludwig practically flies out of the cathedral, headed right toward them.

_You saw him? You saw him up close?_

The twins let him know what he’s missed, and Julius grins at them, his attention successfully drawn from the Fortress, though Vox Machina wouldn’t be exiting for a good long while. They had never had such camaraderie in life.

(Julius supposes that is one of the best things about death - lack of sibling rivalry.)

After a short while, two familiar silhouettes exit the golden cathedral, and the other spirits part to let them pass, giving them a direct path to where Julius is standing. The murmurs fade away around them, and he smiles to see them out and about.

(Not that they had been moping beforehand, but even ghosts can grieve the losses they suffered in life.)

_Thank you, Ludwig, for the call_ , Frederick says, a man of as few words in death as he was in life.

_You're welcome, Father._

_And to see Vex’ahlia, Grand Mistress of the Hunt and his betrothed…_ their mother hums, her words quiet as a whisper and directed toward no single person, so they all hear it.

_Knew it, brother._

_No one doubted you, Vesper,_ Julius points out.

(It still feels good to be right. To know.)

Julius watches with the majority of his family as the light within the fortress pulses, the spirits’ whispers fading away until the only sound around them is the breeze through the trees.

They wait together, the whole crowd, for Vox Machina to leave the Dawnfather’s presence, and after a while Julius feels his father’s hand on his shoulder.

Julius turns, memories of life filling him as he remembers talks about ruling Whitestone one day and what he needed to know.

_It is good to be here with so many of you,_ Frederick murmurs, and Julius knows the words are only between them.

_It is, Father,_ he agrees, looking up as the light at the top of the tower pulses brighter, and then looking around at his siblings, who also had their attentions captured by the brilliance above them.

It is good to see how far Percy had come, even without the rest of them to walk beside him through whatever might’ve been thrown his way.

And as they watch Vox Machina step out of the Fortress doors, Vex’ahlia now shining with the radiance of a star as the Dawnfather’s champion, Julius watches Percival’s tread, steadier, his hand still intertwined with hers. While he knows not why their journey to Elysium was necessary, he is glad for it, and the knowledge that Exandria is in good hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at dancer4813 and dancerwrites.


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